


let us laugh lest we cry

by allrounderinsane



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: M/M, SandpaperGate 2018
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 02:32:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17013909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allrounderinsane/pseuds/allrounderinsane
Summary: Mitch was tempting fate on the morning of Day Three, and he knew it. He hadn’t meant to become a superstitious man, but the ritual of a visit to the ocean which had originally summoned his maiden Test hundred was nonetheless calming. He has dispersed of that, though, for one day in Cape Town. Instead, Mitch is following Pat’s directive, following his back up Table Mountain, just as the sun rises.Cape Town, 2018, and what happens when a cricket team eats itself.





	let us laugh lest we cry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celebel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celebel/gifts).



> This is my probably-too-soon attempt at applying the lens of fic to the mess of South Africa. Of course, this is a work of fiction and nothing within it should be taken as fact. Some of the scenes (probably all of it) might not make much sense considering that I've often written as a stream of my own consciousness, to heal and comprehend from a cricketing perspective.
> 
> Thanks as always to Sunny, who is an actual ray of sunshine, and to Drunk Aunt who has read most of this blow-by-blow, ball-by-ball.

_~Wish I knew what you were looking for_

_Might have known what you would find_

_Wish I knew what you were looking for_

_Might have known what you find~_

  * _The Church, ‘Under the Milky Way’_



**Morning of Saturday, March 24**

Mitch was tempting fate on the morning of Day Three, and he knew it. He hadn’t meant to become a superstitious man, but the ritual of a visit to the ocean which had originally summoned his maiden Test hundred was nonetheless calming. He has dispersed of that, though, for one day in Cape Town. Instead, Mitch is following Pat’s directive, following his back up Table Mountain, just as the sun rises. Reaching the summit, Pat pauses and checks over his shoulder for Mitch, before he steps out onto a boulder. It looks precarious, but he says nothing. Mitch trusts Pat, approaching him and standing behind him, toes against the curved side of the boulder. With a smile on his lips, he extends his arms, providing a place for Pat’s back to rest while they watch the sky in awe.

 

“Anything could happen here, Mitch. I don’t mind, because being here with you, it’s beautiful.”

Pat swallows, as he leans back further, steadied by Mitch’s frame and comforting scent.

“I guess what I’m saying is, whatever happens on the field, it can’t take away from what this tour has brought me, which is you.”

Mitch breathes in, then kisses Pat’s hair once he exhales.

“I wish . . .”

Mitch trails off. It’s too much to hope for more, to hope for Painey and Hoff to score double centuries each and for them to romp it in by an innings inside four days.

 

That would be too much, maybe anything would be too much. Mitch stays there with Pat, not speaking to each other. Perhaps the magic is best appreciated with only the soft chatter of birdsong as a soundtrack. Mitch knows that they leave enough time to return to the hotel before they need to leave for the ground. Tempting fate – that was what Mitch was doing. Messing with the schedule, with the natural order of things. It was easy for Mitch to believe in destiny before that day, even if most of it was media hype. After that day, it all became harder, the looming shadow of Cape Town much more than that cast by Table Mountain.

 

But that is yet to transpire, when Mitch and Pat return to the hotel, hands slipping apart before they can be seen. They head to the lifts and are transported side by side alongside a porter back to their floor. Outside, Mitch and Pat tread separate paths, without a farewell, back to their individual rooms. There is certainty, even for them. They will see each other on the way to Newlands, then in the dressing room, then on the field once the remaining wicket falls. Cricket will keep turning on its axis. Mitch believes that, even though his hotel room seems colder than usual, his bed still made just as it was upon their arrival.

 

He gets himself ready rather quickly. Perhaps Mitch is fuelled by adrenaline, indulging in his new normal – pre-dawn snuggles followed by hikes with Pat. Clouds have come over since they felt the first rays of morning sun on their backs, which hopefully bring with them good conditions for bowling, when the time comes. Rain would bless Cape Town, but not Mitch and his team. When he emerges again into the corridor, Davey, and Cameron, are shepherding his children downstairs, to breakfast. Mitch greets his state teammate and vice-captain with a smile which he widens to match the enthusiasm of the girls. It strikes him as just another day, fate hoodwinked.


End file.
